This Is Our Story Of How We Got Out
by actsportmusic
Summary: Three minors were left mom-less not long ago. They want to find their dad now. The eldest doesn't think he's ready to be a full-time father for them, and is unaware that he has regretted believing his job came first every day since he last saw them. Just a little idea that I thought I would submit as this character has had much exploration yet. Summary could've been better.


This is our story of how we got out…

I walked out of the council apartment block, the brisk wind of February 2014 attacking my face and disturbing my shoulder-length, dark brown hair. I had a navy blue, padded gilet wrapped around my body — zipped up completely so it's woollen collar kept my neck from being attacked too. Legs getting colder due to the thin dark denim material I had covering them, and with eyes burning and threatening to fall close due to the previous night, I remember back to only a few hours ago.

My little brother had been crying and screaming for our mom. He still couldn't measure the fact that she was gone. Don't get me wrong; it was hard admitting she wasn't going to say goodnight or tell me she loves me again. I just had to look brave for my sister and brother. We just had to get on with our lives, hope we would be okay. But last night was terrible. He just wouldn't be quiet and our 'adult supervision' wasn't exactly the most helpful person in their inebriated state. I said something bad too, but I didn't think he — my innocent minded brother — would actually believe me. I told him I would find our dad…

First stop, the grocery store. Stay with me — this story picks up. After I had picked up a few things, I dropped the items off at our derelict apartment. My mom, siblings and I had moved here around eighteen months ago after my step-dad had kicked us out because of not being able to cope with mom's diagnosis any longer. She had been told she had less than three years to live — brain cancer — and he couldn't handle it. We had no choice to stay or go, and every day we became more aware of what was eventually going to happen. The nurses took care of us four in hospital, and when mom did die, I told them our nonno — Italian for grandfather —would be taking us to Bergamo and would be our guardian. He died ten years ago. We were now on our own. But that wasn't for long as we found out our aunt had been appointed our guardian — something our mother had asked her to do nearly as soon as she found out she didn't really have long. She was normally a massive help — like any guardian should be — but she was a lot younger than my mom and regularly went out to clubs and wherever late into the nights. Sometimes I even went with her; when she coaxed me into it. I suppose that made me a bad influence to my younger siblings — just what they need. Once again, I journeyed out of the ever expanding estate.

Now a little bit about my parents. They met in school, married young and had a kid not long after — me. Around three years later, my sister came along, and then nearly five years after that our brother was here too. Within that time, our dad joined the army and that's when and where the problems started to arise. Mom and dad divorced, mom re-married and dad went away with the army — us rarely seeing him.

The first few years were tough because I couldn't understand why my dad wasn't there. I would constantly say to my mom: "When is daddy coming home? When is Robbie going to leave?" She got more and more frustrated, so, when I was nine, I stopped asking her and thought I understood why our family was how it was.

Right now I should be at school. But I can't be today. Earlier I walked my brother to school and left our sister at the train station after that. I should have caught the train with her, but today I have more important things to do. I would just be marked as ill again, however nobody would check up on it. They don't bother anymore.

I slipped both earphones into either ear, pressed play on my white iPod Touch 4th generation — a gift from my mom and step-dad for my tenth birthday — and walked to where I promised and needed to go.

I rolled over and hit the alarm clock with unintentional force — thankfully it didn't smash. What's that saying? Something like 'another day, another dollar.' What the hell was that supposed to mean anyway? Whatever it was, I knew I had to get up for work.

I hadn't slept much last night as the neighbours had a party. There was shouting and screaming and a lot of other noises — some most people would class as inappropriate but were just a fact of life — until the early hours, which was only four or five hours ago. So, as you can guess, I haven't had a lot of sleep.

I got up quickly, had a two minute shower and pulled my clothes on with a disorientated expression. In my obvious trance, I delved at the small, wooden table for my keys and wallet. I was broken out of this trance when a folded slip of paper fluttered to the ground. I bent at the knees to pick it up. Being curious, I unfolded it in my hands and nearly ran when all the memories came back. I stared at the photo of my ex-wife, two daughters, son and I. We all looked so happy back then, nescient of what was to come about. I was standing in the photo, holding my infant son, who had turned one the day before this photo was taken, and I was in my desert combat dress, leaving my family to go to Afghanistan. My two daughters, who were seven and five at the time, stood in front of their mother and I, my arm draped over the shoulders of my eldest daughter, and her mother doing the same to her sister. My ex-wife and I were also standing close together, her other arm hanging over my shoulder. My children would now be fourteen, eleven, and seven. Both my daughters would now be in secondary school and I was being the bad father and hadn't visited them in so long. I know I have to find out where they are; I just don't know how.

Every birthday and Christmas I sent a letter and card to each of them when I was deployed. Although I haven't heard anything from them in a while. When I came back from Afghanistan, I had a nasty surprise with being handed divorce papers. My then wife had told me she had met someone else, and that I was welcome to see our kids anytime I liked. I also know that my ex-wife got re-married (to the bastard who she met when I wasn't there) five years ago — I had our kids for the two week honeymoon. I loved being able to spend time with my kids again, but it just wasn't the same as being together as a family. I was allowed to take the time off to spend the duration with them, but I didn't get all the time I wanted with them. I dropped them off at school and then went to other places to keep myself busy — places and experiences that the army recommended. All I could think about when there was that I wanted my kids to be there with me but I knew and still do know how important their education is. Sometimes I couldn't even pick them up from school; I had to ask another parent — their mother's closest friend — to take them to theirs and for me to collect them later.

I snapped out of the memories and realized I was now running late. Shoving the photo into my pocket, I grabbed my backpack and rushed out the door.


End file.
